


Fic: Deep by Deep, Esca/Marcus, NC17

by tracy7307



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tracy7307/pseuds/tracy7307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esca slowly develops a friendship with his master and soon learns how much he enjoys taking care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fic: Deep by Deep, Esca/Marcus, NC17

**Title** : Deep by Deep  
 **Rating** : NC17  
 **Pairing** : Esca/Marcus  
 **Word Count** : 3538  
 **Summary** : Esca slowly develops a friendship with his master and soon learns how much he enjoys taking care of him.  
 **Disclaimer** : _The Eagle_ and all its characters belong to Rosemary Sutcliff  
 **Content labels** : (fluffy) watersports, mild dub-con (highlight to read context) *Esca briefly touches Marcus while he's unconscious.*  
 **AN** : Written for [this](http://the-eagle-kink.livejournal.com/2132.html?thread=2519636#t2519636) prompt at [](http://the-eagle-kink.livejournal.com/profile)[**the_eagle_kink**](http://the-eagle-kink.livejournal.com/): _imagine Marcus did actually wet himself, and Esca was immensely turned on changing Marcus from his soiled clothes. Fast forward, Esca likes Marcus to lose control of his bladder, and Marcus discovers he likes to let it go, and be taken care of afterwards by Esca._ I hope that this meets your expectations, anon!

  
Esca flung his dagger at the Centurion’s feet, the message clear in the angry glint of his eyes.

_I might be your slave, but do not mistake me as bow-backed and servile._

Rome had stolen everything from him: his two brothers, his mother, his father, his tribe. And this Centurion who stood lamely in front of him had claimed the only choice in which Esca still had – his life. Resentment coiled through his body as he looked at his new master.

Even when he wasn’t needed and stood behind the Centurion, his body was wound with tension. Esca carried a grudge the size of Britannia on his shoulders, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. With glares full of ice and a tight-set jaw, Esca made sure everyone knew how he felt about being a slave in old Aquila’s home. The other slaves stayed clear of him, though Esca would often heard Sasstica whispering to Stephanos while he stood in the corridor: _that wild young tribesman will find himself on the sore end of my patella if he continues to behave like a caged wolf._

The Centurion, however, did not feed in to Esca’s brooding as Esca had expected he would. In truth, he was the opposite of everything Esca had anticipated. While Esca thought the Centurion would act as entitled as any young Roman would, he behaved humbly. The Centurion asked for things, never demanded them, and always thanked for it afterward - ‘More water please, Esca? Thank you.’ Esca hoped that his impatient pouring, the manner in which he thrust the cup, and the fiercest glare he could manage would prickle at his master’s nerves, but then the Centurion _smiled_ at him. Smiled!

Soon the days passed into weeks that passed into months, and Esca found his animosity fading with each exchange with the Centurion. His master never acted as a master, but rather as a friend who was asking for a favour. With each gentle request, with each smile, with every moment where the Centurion showed honour, Esca’s anger deteriorated as the river eroded the stone into a pebble. The snows of winter melted from the branches of the trees with the spring’s warming sun, and Esca’s bitterness faded.

In the cool air of the early summer mornings, Esca helped the Centurion to his chair outside, and inevitably he’d ask Esca to sit with him. They traded stories of battle, long conversations comparing and contrasting techniques, strategy and weaponry. They promised to spar when the Centurion’s leg healed. “Marcus,” he’d said. “If I’m to call you Esca, you should call me Marcus.”

They found they’d both lost their fathers: one to death in battle and the other simply lost. The day came when Esca felt comfortable enough to confess how his father’s death left a hole in his heart – he spoke down to the blades of grass and the droplets of dew, but it was Marcus who replied, “I know.” It sat between them - this connection. Esca feared looking at Marcus, as in another life, in another place, those words would be ones traded between friends, not between master and slave. So Esca fixed his gaze toward the treetops rimmed with the gold of the rising sun and listened to the twitter of the birds.

Esca couldn’t really pinpoint when the shift happened – perhaps between matches of latrunculi and debates over whether Marcus was cheating (Esca thought Marcus was making up rules just to be declared the victor, and Marcus laughed when Esca pushed away from the table, muttering about ‘pompous Romans always needing to win’). Or perhaps it was when Esca watched Marcus care for Vipsania, brushing her down as long as his leg would allow him until he silently motioned for Esca to help him back to the house.

Whatever the case, when the surgeon told Marcus that he must open Marcus’s leg back up to repair the damage done by the initial surgery, Esca’s stomach dropped to the floor.

Esca thought of Marcus thrashing again, incapacitated and in pain. It saddened him to think of Marcus recovering yet again when all Marcus wanted was to be a man – whole, healthy, vital- a warrior.

Esca swore that he would care for Marcus every step of the way and see him through to a full recovery.

The day came and Marcus clasped Esca’s forearm before he lay on the table. “Should this not turn out well, I shall see you again in the Elysian Fields, my friend.”

Esca nodded once, warmth spinning in his chest at the word. _Friend_. “That day will not come until we are both bald old men, Marcus. I must see you through until you have recovered so that I might send your Roman pride crashing to the ground when we spar.”

“Mouthy Briton,” Marcus grinned as he lay back upon the table.

When the surgeon commanded it, Esca held down Marcus. Pride and strength shone through Marcus’s gaze as he writhed beneath Esca’s arms – a mass of muscle for Esca to struggle with. He never cried out, even as the surgeon’s knife sliced into his leg. He simply stared up at Esca, panting hot onto Esca’s forearm until he slipped into unconsciousness – brave in the face of extreme pain.

When the surgeon waved him away, Esca stood and watched him work, blending into the background as the surgeon and bent over Marcus. An odd tug pulled behind Esca’s navel when he was sent to fetch water and new linens, as it felt wrong to be anywhere but by Marcus’s bedside. In silence, he cleaned the blood-stained cloths left by the bedside.

By the time the last cloth was hung, the surgeon finished packing up his tools, briefly instructing Esca how to care for Marcus during his recovery.

 _Mine_ , Esca thought as he approached Marcus’s bed. _Finally mine to care for_.

Throughout the night, Esca watched as Marcus vacillated between sleeping quietly and waking to shift about restlessly. Each time he woke, Esca lifted his head and held the cup to his lips, letting him drink the drugged water. In a matter of moments, he fell back into resting. Beads of sweat formed along Marcus’s brow, dampening his hair. Esca touched the moist skin, his heartbeat fluttering as he pushed back Marcus’s hair from his brow.

His fingertips traced the line of Marcus’s hair, sliding down his temple. Esca shoved down the feeling of guilt that rose in his throat, ignored the part of his mind protesting that this was wrong, and let his fingers trail across Marcus’s lips, a temptation of which he might never be able to partake. He allowed himself this small indulgence.

As the moon rose high and threw silver squares onto the floor, Esca grew tired and pulled his pallet close to Marcus’s bed. His limbs were heavy from handling Marcus, and his eyelids drooped closed as a light sleep settled over him.

~*~

Esca blinked his eyes open. Sunlight glowed orange-yellow over the treetops as he heard his name being called from above. “Esca,” Marcus rasped in a near-whisper. “Esca, please.” He motioned for his cup and when Esca placed it to his lips, he drank deep gulps before his head thudded back onto the pillow, made heavy with the opium water.

As the surgeon instructed, Esca used Marcus’s deep sleep to perform his duties. He lifted Marcus’s bandages and gently dabbed at the wound, still angry and red though no longer bleeding. As he replaced the bandage, though, he saw a dark spot appear over Marcus’s groin that began spreading outwards over the front of the tunic.

Esca cursed himself for not bringing the pot to Marcus during his brief moment of lucidity and dipped a cloth in the water basin, wringing it out before pulling a spare tunic from the chest. His fingers touched the hem of soiled tunic and he paused, his eyes traveling back to the wet stain on the front. He briefly thought of how warm that spot would be to the touch, the warmth that would cover Marcus’s thighs, hot liquid covering the cock that lay underneath.

Esca felt heat pooling low in his belly at the thought. Slowly he let his fingers wander, touching his fingertips to the dampness. Just as he had imagined it, the tunic was warm under his fingers, and the wetness molded it to the curve of Marcus’s cock.

He shook his head and quickly pulled his hand back. What kind of friend was he, having such base thoughts about one as incapacitated and helpless as Marcus? There was no honour in these desires. He jumped to his feet and set his mind to the task at hand.

He lifted the hem of Marcus’s tunic and tugged it up his torso. Gently he lifted Marcus’s shoulders and pulled the soiled tunic over his head, tossing it to the other side of the room to be washed. Marcus’s cock lay limp in its nest of course black hair, which glistened with a few droplets of piss. Esca wiped the cloth over skin, starting across Marcus’s thighs. He rinsed the cloth once before placing it to Marcus’s groin, wiping gently over his cock, lifting it to wipe all around it before running the cloth several times through the hair.

By the time Esca was finished, his cock jutted out proudly against his tunic. Desire pulsed hotly in his cock, and he trembled with the shame of it.

He closed his eyes and reached into his braccae, taking himself in hand and stroking his stiff flesh roughly. He imagined Marcus, awake and recovered, pressed tightly against him. _Let go,_ Esca said. _I will take care of you. Let go, Marcus._ And Marcus would. The heat and wetness would spread through Marcus’s tunic and seep through Esca’s, hot on his skin, and Marcus would pant against his neck. Esca would hold him, whispering to his ear, _so good for me, my Marcus. So good._

Kneeling next to Marcus’s bed with his hand down his braccae, Esca came all over his fingers.

With shame curling through his body and weighing down his heart, he cleaned himself up quietly and picked up the clothes to wash.

~*~

It never happened again while Marcus recovered.

As the wound healed into an angry, knotted, deep-pink scar, Marcus required less and less of the drugged water. His pain subsided and he spent more hours awake, and Esca was glad to see his friend returning to his old self. Marcus soon regained his usual demeanour and carried on with his gentle teasing when Esca lost to him at lantrunculi.

As the days grew into weeks, Marcus’s leg twitched as it healed. Esca helped Marcus exercise it, allowing Marcus to place his foot on Esca’s shoulder (not without sniffing at Marcus’s foot and wrinkling his nose with a dramatic _Eugh!_ ). He leaned forward with some of his weight, and Marcus resisted against Esca’s push, flexing his muscle. Esca flushed at their position, with his hands wrapped around Marcus’s foot and leg. Esca thought briefly of what it would be like to tumble with Marcus, to slide his cock into Marcus, to wrap his lips around one of Marcus’s toes and suckle at it.

“Sa, Esca! That tickles! Mind your fingers!” Marcus laughed and flexed his foot against Esca’s hand.

“Apologies. I had to take hold of your massive paw somehow, and your sausage toes work as good as any other part.”

Marcus laughed again, his smile wrinkling the corner of his eyes, lush and green as the hilltops.

 _Lost, I am lost, truly,_ Esca thought.

Marcus’s smile faded as his faced twisted with concentration. He pushed his foot against Esca’s shoulder, resisting the weight. His leg trembled with the effort. Esca let up some of his weight, allowing Marcus to extend his leg. They repeated the motion several times before Marcus grew tired and Esca left him to rest.

When he was not attending to Marcus, Esca passed the slow summer days with him while was bedridden. Perched in a chair next to Marcus’s bed, Esca played games with him, traded stories both true and concocted, and most memorably, listened while Marcus read verses in Latin to him.

Several weeks past the day when the surgeon cut Marcus’s leg open, Marcus read aloud as Esca tidied the room. Esca listened as Marcus’s voice filled the room, not particularly concentrating on the words. The rise and fall of the verse suited the tenor of Marcus’s voice, and the meter matched the thrum of Esca’s heart.

As Catullus fell from Marcus’s lips, Esca approached the bed with the water basin. “Sit forward, Marcus,” he said. “I must wash your back.”

Marcus did as Esca asked, swallowing heavily when Esca wrapped his fingers around Marcus’s shoulder and swiped the cloth across his broad upper back. He said with a cracking voice, “Do you sit down, Esca. Surely that angle is not comfortable for you.”

“Yes, you are right. Perhaps I should sit behind you directly, and I could rub your back as well. Surely it aches from your days in this bed.”

“Mithras, how sore my back is!” Marcus shifted forward a bit, allowing Esca room to slide in behind him. “I should be glad to have the knots removed. Your fingers will doubtless help, clumsy as they are,” he said, looking back with a teasing grin over his shoulder.

“Hardly as clumsy as yours,” Esca said as he slid behind Marcus, settling his legs on either side of Marcus’s hips. “You have already knocked over and broken two cups this week. You are lucky to have escaped the wrath of Sasstica, you know.” Esca wiped the cloth in broad strokes over Marcus’s skin.

“I know too well. I have feared her marching in here with her fists on her hips all week. Ah, Esca, how good that feels.” Marcus let out a contented hum as Esca finished washing Marcus’s back.

Esca set aside the cloth and reached over for the oil he had used in the bath water. He coated his fingers with it and touched his fingertips to Marcus’s lower back. The muscle there was knotted and tense; Esca rubbed in firm circles.

Marcus inhaled sharply at the contact, and Esca pulled his hands back. “Does that hurt you? Shall I stop?”

“By the gods, no,” Marcus shifted and leaned back into Esca’s touch. “Do not go gently on me, Esca. I can take it. I am no delicate flower.”

Esca dug deep into the muscle with his fingers, scooting up closer to Marcus’s back to get better leverage. He spread his legs further to accommodate Marcus’s large body and imagined if Marcus were healthy, how easily he could turn Esca over and pin him to the bed, how he would slide Esca’s legs up over his broad shoulders-

“Harder still,” Marcus said, and Esca startled out of his daydream. “Please, do not hold back, friend.”

Esca leaned forward, pressing his weight into his fingers as he rubbed his way along Marcus’s spine, working the tight muscle loose again. Marcus’s olive skin glistened with the oil. Esca pressed forward and Marcus groaned, the sound reverberating against Esca’s fingertips.

“Ah!” Marcus looked back over his shoulder when Esca reached the knotted muscle in the middle of his back.

Esca stopped. “It is how you sleep, Marcus, that makes your back twisted like this. You should not sleep as if you are trying to conquer every corner of the bed. You should lie straight when you rest.”

Marcus closed his eyes and flushed deep pink. He placed his hand on Esca’s outer thigh. “Perhaps if I had someone to share the bed with me, I should sleep normally at night.”

Esca felt the heat of Marcus’s palm through his braccae and his heart thrummed so loudly he could hear it in his ears and feel the beat in his fingertips.

He placed his hand on Marcus’s forearm, and Marcus twisted back to face him. He cupped Esca’s jaw with one hand. “Esca,” he said, eyes trained on Esca’s lips. “Is this alright?”

Esca nodded once, leaning forward into Marcus’s touch, and Marcus leaned down to kiss him. The touch of Marcus’s lips to his own surprised Esca and he did the best he could to mimic Marcus’s movements, enjoying the slide of Marcus’s lips against his own.

Marcus broke away to kiss at his jaw. “Will you part your lips for me, just a little?”

Esca did as Marcus asked, and Marcus started kissing him again, open-mouthed. He started when he felt Marcus’s tongue touch his own, hot and slick, and soon found himself sliding his own tongue against Marcus’s and licking his way into Marcus’s mouth.

Esca had shifted forward to Marcus’s side so that he was pressing against Marcus’s hip, and his need growing stiff and insistent. Marcus moaned into Esca’s mouth and that was all the needed; his hand slid down Marcus’s chest and found the sheet sticking out, tented with Marcus’s arousal.

When his hand traced the outline of the sheet-covered flesh, Marcus suddenly broke off the kiss. “Esca,” he sounded panicked and shifted away. He ducked his head and with downcast eyes said in a low voice, “I am sorry to stop, Esca, truly, but I need the pot. Will you please bring it to me?”

Esca did not remove his hand; instead, he reached under the sheet and wrapped his hand around Marcus’s cock, watching the sheet move as he stroked the stiff flesh.

Marcus’s eyes slid shut again. “Esca,” he panted, hands balling into fists. “Please. I need-” His toes flexed under the sheet and he took his lower lip between his teeth.

“I will take care of you, Marcus.” Esca said the words he had longed to say. “You know this, do you not? Always I will care for you.”

“Mithras,” Marcus’s head fell to Esca’s shoulder as Esca stroked him, adding a twist at the end that sent Marcus thrusting up into Esca’s fist. “Esca, I have to piss.”

“Do it then,” Esca said against Marcus’s cheek. His hand stilled its movements. “I will clean it after. I should like it if you let go.”

“I should like it as well,” Marcus said against Esca’s shoulder.

Esca stroked Marcus once, soft skin sliding over iron hardness. “Let go then. Do it for me.”

Marcus grasped Esca’s thigh and buried his face further into Esca’s shoulder, and then Esca felt the first burst of hot liquid on his fingertips, rolling down his wrist. A dark spot appeared on the sheet and spread outward. “Good, Marcus,” Esca stroked Marcus’s hair with his other hand as the flow came to an end. “So good.” His heart felt like bursting that Marcus would give him this, that Marcus trusted him this deeply.

The wet sheet clung to the back of Esca’s hand and he began stroking again, Marcus’s cock still stiff. His wrist and forearm were soaked with piss and his cock throbbed in his braccae. He thrust against Marcus, desperation fueling his blood as he pumped his hips. He sped up his movements on Marcus’s cock, stroking the head when he pulled down on the shaft. “You are a sight, Marcus. Let me watch you come undone.”

“Esca,” Marcus panted, then went rigid, holding his harried breath as he came, spurting against the sheet.

Hot stickiness coated Esca’s fingers. He felt so covered with Marcus’s fluids that it seemed that Marcus had ingrained himself into Esca’s very skin; Esca felt a warmth blossom in his chest at the thought – it felt as though in this manner, he could carry Marcus with him, always.

Marcus caught his breath and lifted his head, leaning in to kiss Esca’s lips with kisses so soft that Esca nearly wept for it. His own need seemed secondary to Marcus’s releases, and when Marcus twisted around to palm at Esca’s cock, Esca took him by the wrist. “Just you today. There are plenty of days ahead for me.”

Marcus nodded and kissed Esca again. The sheet was cooling against Esca’s hand, and he regretfully drew himself away from Marcus’s side. He pulled the sheet from the bed and took the cloth to Marcus once more, swatting away Marcus’s hand when he tried to help. Carefully he cleaned Marcus’s skin and listened as Marcus rambled on about his plans for purchasing new equipment for Vipsania, how he wanted to hunt as soon as he was able to ride, and suddenly stopped talking. “Esca? Are you alright?”

“Of course,” Esca replied and kissed Marcus on the tip of his nose. “Better than I have been in quite a long time.”

The day moved on around them. Sasstica could be heard banging around in the kitchen and cursing at Cub who had gotten underfoot, Stephanos was outside beating a rug, and Uncle Aquila hummed some tune as he walked away from the villa. Esca washed the soiled sheet, and later that night, slept in Marcus’s bed curled against his side.

The next day, Marcus gave Esca his manumission papers, and every adventure thereafter they spent as friends and lovers.


End file.
